Fight or Flight
by Suspicious Popsicle
Summary: Sometimes, the things Yuri does really piss Flynn off. Sometimes, Yuri has reasons for doing those things, even if he won't explain his reasons. Flynn does the best he can with unspoken reasons and unvoiced explanations, but Yuri expects an awful lot from him, sometimes. From my College Town AU. Fluri


A/N: One more for the College Town set. This one goes more into Yuri's backstory in that universe. Again, this is completely unrelated to the high school AU.

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are from _Tales of Vesperia_ and do not belong to me.

* * *

Flynn was in bed when he heard Yuri's motorcycle pull into the parking lot at two fifty-four in the morning. He sighed with relief, then threw back the covers and went out into the hall where he waited in the darkness, arms crossed, as he listened for the scrape of the key in the lock and the soft creak of the front door. Yuri appeared briefly in silhouette, backlit by streetlamps before he shut the door almost noiselessly behind himself. Flynn could barely make out his form as he bent to sit his helmet down on the floor next to his backpack.

Yuri had gone out to pick up a few things at the grocery store _twelve hours ago_ and was only now sneaking back in after having failed to answer far too many texts and calls regarding his whereabouts and wellbeing. Flynn half hoped he didn't have an excuse. He didn't want his conscience holding him back during the ass kicking Yuri was going to receive.

He waited until Yuri was almost upon him before reaching out and flicking on the hall light. Shock pushed the anger right out of him as he got a good look at Yuri.

"What the fuck, Flynn? You scared the hell out of me."

"What _happened_ to you?"

Yuri's clothes were a mess, his jeans ripped open on one leg to reveal a skinned knee. His hair was tangled, and one of his eyes was beginning to swell. Blood from his nose was smeared across the bottom half of his face and his neck, and had soaked the top of his shirt. He reeked of booze.

Shrugging, he stepped past Flynn into the bathroom and tugged his shirt off to toss it aside.

"Bar fight. I may not be welcome in Schwann's for a while. Depends on what the old man tells his boss."

"I thought you'd gotten past this."

Yuri didn't respond. Instead, he turned on the water and washed his hands and face, avoiding Flynn's accusing glare in the mirror while he scrubbed away the blood. When he was satisfied that he'd gotten enough of it, he turned off the tap and spun around.

"I'm going to bed."

"The hell you are."

Flynn grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the bathroom attached to his bedroom. Maybe Yuri was the one who needed antiseptic and bandages, but Flynn was the one with enough sense to actually keep them on hand. He slapped the toilet lid down and shoved Yuri at it.

"Sit," he ordered, and pulled out what he needed from his medicine cabinet before kneeling in front of Yuri.

He was a little surprised that Yuri didn't protest, didn't even try to argue or leave, but there was a look in his eyes that Flynn didn't like, and he tried to concentrate on getting Yuri's cuts and scrapes cleaned and bandaged. Once before, back when they were still in high school, Yuri had appeared at his door in the middle of the night. He'd been hurt and covered in blood that time, too, but the blood hadn't been his and Flynn hadn't seen him again for a long time after that night.

No one had ever told him the whole story, but he'd been able to piece things together from scraps of overhead conversations between adults. Yuri had gone into the foster program when he was ten. Flynn knew that well enough, and knew that he'd been placed with a couple different families that hadn't worked out. When he was fifteen, though, he was placed with a family that should never have been given care of a child.

Although Yuri had acted as if everything was normal during the months he'd been with that family, in the aftermath that followed, Flynn had caught the word 'abuse' whispered in appalled tones. He'd never been brave enough to ask how bad it had been. Bad enough, apparently, for Yuri to strike out at his foster father one night. Whether it had been self-defense or not, he'd been sent to juvenile hall for a year and, after he came back, Flynn could sometimes catch a glimpse of something unsettling in his friend that hadn't been there before. He'd never seen a physical scar left by the ordeal, but he knew Yuri hadn't escaped unscathed.

The mood Yuri was in now reminded Flynn of that night. The timing of his return home and the blood, too: all of it was disconcerting. He tried to focus on what he was doing, comforting himself with the thought that this had nothing to do with that night, that Yuri was protected from that man by time and distance and a few years of judo classes. This was nothing more than what Yuri said it was. He'd probably run into some friends and went to hang out with them and had a little too much to drink. He should have thought to call Flynn and he shouldn't have gotten into a fight and he definitely shouldn't have driven home. Still trying to convince himself that it was nothing too serious, that the look in Yuri's eyes was merely a product of alcohol and exhaustion, Flynn started in on him as he patched him up.

"You could have checked your phone. If you're going to change your plans, fine, but at least let me know. When you didn't come back, I thought you might have been in an accident, or something."

"I accidentally got hit by some guy's fist. Does that count?"

"Quit being an ass."

He was careful to be gentle as he swabbed Yuri's hands, even as he hoped the antiseptic stung like hell. Yuri's knuckles were scraped and bloody. It was a certainty that he'd given as good as he got. Flynn wrapped gauze around Yuri's hands. He'd probably tear it off in the morning, but at least for the time being they'd be protected while they healed. He cleaned and bandaged Yuri's knee next, putting off looking into his face for as long as he could.

Eventually, he ran out of little hurts to attend to. As he looked up, he barely had time to add a split lip to the catalog of injuries before Yuri threw his arms around Flynn's neck and slid forward off the toilet, knees slamming onto the linoleum.

"What—" but Flynn couldn't finish the question because Yuri was kissing him, urgently, desperately, and his hands were clenched around Flynn's shirt. He tasted like alcohol and blood, and Flynn shoved him away before Yuri pushed them both down onto the tiles.

For a moment, Yuri just sat there, grimacing, then he rose unsteadily to his feet and stepped past Flynn.

"I'm going to bed."

"Wait a minute."

"No."

"Yuri—" Flynn stood and reached for his arm, but Yuri jerked away, stumbling sideways into the wall.

"Fuck you!"

With that, he hurried out of Flynn's room and down the short hallway to his own. Flynn caught up in time to have the door slammed in his face, but he twisted the doorknob before Yuri could lock him out. He listened to the agitated rattling of the knob until Yuri gave up trying to get the lock to engage. There were a few seconds of silence followed by the familiar sound of Yuri dropping onto his bed.

"I'm coming in."

He hadn't really expected a response. He'd only said it because he hadn't been raised to intrude on someone's personal space without warning and a good reason. Requirements met, he opened the door and stepped inside.

The only light came from the streetlamps shining through the open blinds, but it was enough to see. Yuri's room was always messy, with dirty clothes and old receipts strewn over the floor. His single bookcase housed an unsorted collection of novels, textbooks, DVDs, and video games. The top of his dresser held a large glass jar half full of spare change and one of three meticulously organized CD towers. He had a beat up, secondhand desk that was a bird's nest of papers and notebooks surrounding his computer. The desk was located at the foot of his bed, which was nothing more than a mattress covered with a fitted sheet that Yuri had shoved into the far corner of the room. He was sitting on the mattress, tucked as far into the corner as he could get. He didn't look up as Flynn came to stand next to the bed.

"What happened after you left?"

When Yuri didn't say anything, Flynn dropped to his hands and knees on the mattress in front of him.

"I've known you since kindergarten, Yuri. I can tell when something's not right. What happened?"

There was a solid 'thunk!' as Yuri let his head fall back against the wall. "I'm not drunk enough for this."

"Quit stalling." He didn't back down as Yuri regarded him coolly, and it was Yuri who blinked.

"…Did I ever tell you about Ragou?"

"Ragou…." Flynn considered the name and the faint memory attached to it. "He was a caseworker, right?"

Yuri's laugh was short and bitter. "Caseworker? He fed kids to monsters, Flynn. Ragou's the one who sent me to _him_."

Flynn had never heard Yuri refer to the last man who had fostered him by name. Maybe it was nothing more than disdain that kept him from uttering the man's name. It had certainly seemed that way on the few occasions before when the subject had come up. Tonight, though, Flynn wasn't sure that was all there was to it. Normally, Yuri wasn't one to give people that sort of power over him, but he'd been a victim that time and Flynn knew he had never really forgotten.

"I ran into him at the grocery store. He recognized me."

Even knowing that Yuri's injuries were far too fresh to have come from a fight that early in the day, Flynn couldn't help but ask.

"Did you—"

"I didn't do anything to him. I wanted to. I wanted to beat the shit out of him. Sometimes, I think I should have gone after him rather than running to you."

"Did he say something to you?"

"Nothing important."

Sighing, Flynn settled himself perpendicular to Yuri, back to the wall, legs stretched all the way across the small mattress. He reached out to lay a hand on Yuri's arm.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

Yuri lashed out, slapping Flynn's hand away before huddling back into the corner. The sudden violence startled Flynn and shattered the patience he'd summoned up.

"What the hell? You're the one who wanted to make out in the bathroom a minute ago."

"You're the one who didn't want me," he accused. He was avoiding Flynn's eyes again.

"You're drunk, and you've been beaten black and blue. What sort of person would fool around with you in that state?"

"Get out."

"You haven't told me—"

"I said _get out_!"

He lunged forward, tackling Flynn clumsily, but this time it was an attack, not a bit of rough play. Flynn instinctively fought back, wrestling to gain control. They rolled off the bed, lashing out blindly in the confusion, until Flynn managed to pin Yuri to the floor.

"What's _wrong_ with you?"

"Fuck me or fight me or get out of my room, I don't care which."

"I'm not doing anything with you while you're in this condition. You'd only get—stop squirming!—hurt worse. Would you _hold still_?"

"Get out!"

"Fine! Fine, I'm going. Stop struggling before you hurt yourself again."

Flynn stood up carefully, watching Yuri for any indication that he was going to lash out again, but Yuri only rolled to put his back to Flynn and laid there on the floor, limp as a rag doll. He didn't move as Flynn left, shutting the door behind himself.

Something was very, very wrong. Even drunk, Yuri didn't normally lose his cool like that. Whatever had happened between him and Ragou must have shaken him badly.

Flynn went into the kitchen and poured a glass of water. He had a bottle of aspirin in his medicine cabinet, and he pulled it out before going back into Yuri's room. There was a muttered: "Fucking hell," from the lump of drunken boyfriend still lying in the same spot on the floor.

"You said you'd get out."

"I did. Now I'm back. Sit up, I brought you some water and something for the pain."

"I don't want it."

"Take it so I'll feel better, then." He looked down at Yuri, then added softly: "I don't like seeing you like this."

Grumbling, Yuri crawled his way back onto the bed, though he kept his back to Flynn even when he reached for the water and the pills. Flynn took the glass back when he was done and set it on the desk before lying down behind Yuri.

"What are—"

"Shut up." Flynn threw an arm over him and pressed as close as he could, even knowing that he had Yuri squished up against the wall. "I'm tired. Some idiot had me up until three in the morning worrying about him."

He heard one short, soft laugh from Yuri, and was relieved to finally hear a touch of humor returning. He'd given up on getting anything out of Yuri that night, but maybe after some sleep he'd be more willing to talk about it. Until then, all he was able to do was offer what comfort he could.

"Must be one colossal idiot if you were worried."

"Mm. Don't know what I'd do without him."

"I thought I was the one who'd been drinking. Don't you mean you don't know what to do with him?"

"I said what I meant. Now, shut up so I can get some sleep."

"Whatever."

Nuzzling up against him, Flynn kissed Yuri's neck softly. "Good night, Yuri."

A minute later, he felt Yuri reach up to where his hand was splayed across his chest and twine their fingers together.

"'Night, Flynn," he murmured.


End file.
